


Intimacy

by punkdentist



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Canon Compliant, F/M, Nurse Meg
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-03-05
Updated: 2015-03-05
Packaged: 2018-03-16 12:11:46
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,264
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3487793
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/punkdentist/pseuds/punkdentist
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Meg stays with Castiel at the hospital. They bond. Read if you like odd language and bittersweet moments.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Intimacy

Meg watches Cas stack another pack of butter on the already impressive tower. He is like a child, albeit a child with power enough to level the building and kill everyone in it. He just sits there, trenchcoat and hospital slacks on the dirty floor. No one cleans – or even enters the room, thanks to Meg's persuasive skills.

Meg stretches and yawns. Cas doesn't look up from his Altar of Butter. It's the first thing he has done in days, besides rocking back and forth and screaming silently. It's an improvement, she supposes, but she stills wants to reach out, shake him, force him to do something – anything. The monotony of the place is getting to her. She shudders.

 _Where did he even get that butter?_ Meg wonders. Castiel sure as hell doesn't touch any of the food Meg is required to bring him. She dumps those in the trash, but drinks the accompanying juice box. So far cranberry isher favourite, with orange as a close second.

She looks at it. The tower. It has grown steadily taller. Maybe thirty tiny butter packs stacked on top of one another. Meg considers counting them – a testament to how enveloped she is in the haze of boredom. Some are even full and unopened, she notices. Enough butter for several toasts. What a waste. Not that she cares.

The structure is stable. _Unlike other people in this room._ She chuckles. It's not funny. Meg bites the inside of her cheek instead of yawning. It’s not better. She fiddles with her uniform. Her fingers find a loose string, and she tugs - works on unravelling the fabric. Her right leg is bouncing up and down. She looks down at her boots and smiles. Perfect for kicking ass and walls and dumb, pointless, ridiculous butter towers.

Castiel stops building – _finally!_ – and inspects his creation, counts every butter pack several times, factoring in brand and opened versus unopened. Meg wants to scream. Cas nods,  the tiniest of smiles on his pink lips. He pulls a pack from the depths of his trenchcoat. Meg moves closer. Cas is almost finished, the final piece hovering a hair's breadth above the tower. Seconds from completion. Tension in the air. Meg reaches out and pokes. The stacked butter tips over. Tumbles. Falls. Castiel's hand hangs in the air, where the top of the tower should have been. Butter seeps through the cracks between his fingers.

A wetness in Cas' eyes. He sniffles. Meg lays her hand on his shoulder. Cas babbles about God and Fate and Beauty. Meg shuts down. If she doesn't listen, she won't care. 

Meg is not nice.

~  ~  ~  ~

It is surprisingly peaceful in the hospital. No threats. The only thing she needs to protect Castiel from being the oatmeal they pass off as breakfast around here. Meg has set a couple of spells, though – just in case. She is immediately alerted to any supernatural presence, and despite the demons several of the patients claim to see, the homemade alarm system has not been activated. Yet.

She could just leave him here. In theory. Meg toys with the idea. Sure, she made a promise, but promises are meant to be broken, and no one appreciates loyalty in this day and age. It's quite terrible, really, her finest quality no longer useful.

If Meg left, but stayed close, she could probably still control the spells, and then if someone intruded, she’d be there in no time, just a quick jump, but really what would the … Castiel interrupts Meg’s train of thought. He has managed to jump from the bed to grab the lamp hanging from the ceiling. He's holding and hanging and swinging and falling. Meg launches herself into the space between Cas and the floor. He drops like a stone. Meg grunts as he hits her. 

They sit in the debris. Meg picks white-ish plaster from his hair. 

~ ~ ~ ~

Meg turns away to re-aply her lipstick. Cas is gone when she looks again. She searches everywhere – even calls the nearest gas 'n sip and lies through her teeth about a dear friend matching Cas' exact description. She bites her lip hard enough to draw blood. Meg is not worried.

She finds him in the TV-room. She stays despite the blue light and grating dialogue. Castiel sits in his plastic chair watching soap opera reruns and infomercials while Meg stands in her corner watching him.

Someone turns the TV off. Meg guides Castiel towards their room. In the middle of the hallway Cas stops. So Meg stops. And stares. He stares back. 

“Pull my finger.” Cas demands.

She yanks the outstretched finger. What else is there to do? 

Every light in the hallway shatters. Meg laughs. Yelling in the distance. She grabs a handful of the trenchcoat and takes two long steps, before forcing them into a run. They sprint through the corridors until they reach the room.

“That was some party trick, Clarence.” Meg says still laughing. Castiel beams. “Where did that come from?”

“I learned that from the TV man.” Cas replies. His eyes burn. with the fever of nostalgia, and for a minute he is really there - old glory shining from every fiber of his being. Then it’s gone.

Meg chuckles. The smile lingers – becomes sincere for just a second. She realises she is holding onto Cas' trench coat. She lets go.

~ ~ ~ ~

White walls. White floor. White ceiling. Shades drawn. Metal furniture bolted to the floor. Over and over again. Demons don't sleep, and they most certainly don't dream, but when Cas sits frozen in the same position for seven hours following invisible patterns with his eyes, it's hard not to doze off. Meg leans back. Her hand fiddles with the id-badge. Nurse Masters – who would've thought?

Meg closes her eyes. She is drifting. A sea of memories, colours, sensations. Cas everywhere. Her life now. His smell is still the same. Hot and heavy in her nose. 

Disturbance? Something. Right there. _Ignore it._

Cas, Cas, Cas. He was everything. Back when things went according to the plan. Fire, passion, danger … and the enemy, she reminds herself. Meg flies away.

Dangerpotentialcorruptioninnocencehappyness. _Ignore it._

Their kiss replaying over and over again. So ~~hot violent perfect soft~~ … unexpected. Ignore it.

She blinks. The room is floating. Too bright. Hurts. She shuts her eyes. Sinks.

Closenessheatintensekissreachtouchforwarddisturbance. _Ignore i-! No. Not anymore._

Eyes open wide. Castiel hovers over her. Inches between them. His warm breath on her skin. He moves. Achingly slow. Forward. Their noses touch.

Meg shoots up. Everything is tight and tense and loaded. She forces the window open with preternatural strength – child safety locks be damned. Meg breathes in, needing to feel the cold night air inside her. Her fingers grip the windowsill hard enough to leave marks. The wind stings in her eyes. A hair escapes her tight, professional nursebun. 

Cas tugs at her arm. He's not the same anymore - Meg knows that now. She follows him anyway. To the roof. They sit. Bats screech. Stars shine. A closeness.

~ ~ ~ ~

A cup of coffee is pushed into her view. There's an ugly bear hugging a heart and some saccharine text on the cup. Meg wants to throw the cup on the floor – wants it to shatter and splash coffee everywhere. Then she'll vomit all over the mess and push Cas into it, knowing he won't do anything to stop her, because he is broken himself. So broken.

Meg picks up the cup and sends Castiel a cold smile. Not that he can tell the difference. She tips back her head and swallows a third of the contents. Meg likes coffee, prefers it scalding hot and with just a hint of milk. 

Cas' coffee is black and cold. _Did he even heat the water?_ She takes a sip and another one, then does her best to suck up the non-dissolved coffee grounds. They crunch between her teeth.

Later Meg makes Castiel coffee. Black and crammed with the _“unhappy”_ artificial sweetener that he hates.

“There's honey in it.” She promises. “Just as you like it.”

It's mean, but it makes her feel like herself for a second. And then, not like herself at all.

~ ~ ~ ~

They watch the stars at night when everyone is sleeping except them. It’s become a ritual. Up on the roof behind the sealed door. It's the only time Cas uses his angel powers. They sit together – a bit too close, ~~notcloseenough~~ , for comfort, and it's nice - beautiful even. Meg can almost convince herself that she chose this.

Cas had been reading the stars, but now he looks out at nothing – or into himself. Silent tears fall. Wet paths streak his cheeks. Meg reaches out and catches one on her fingertip. She licks it off, and it tastes… salty, and like nothing at all. Somehow she had expected more.

Something is blooming inside her. A wonderful, terrible sadness. Meg laughs and tugs Castiel to her chest to nestle him. She rocks them back and forth. Wet shirt. Dark sky. The moon is barely visible. A thin slice of silver with the promise of growing.

~ ~ ~ ~

The garden is nice. Meg hates the garden. It's best in the evening when the sun sets. Then she no longer has to look at the flowers Cas is so fond of comparing her too. Meg is not a flower; she is a wasp, and it would be best if all parties would realise that.

They are out there a lot since Castiel likes the swing set. Meg doesn't understand why there's a swing set in a mental hospital for adults. She wants to make a joke about flying and losing your wings. She doesn't.

Cas likes the trees too, and they are more Meg's kind of thing. There is something satisfying about climbing up and up, with the wind in her hair and the branches flicking her face, something about almost fallings, hands gripped tight around rough bark, legs dangling in the air.

Today is not a good day for tree climbing though. It's raining icy drops, and Meg's boots are muddy just from the walk. Cas doesn't see the problem. He wants, _needs_ , to climb to the top of the tallest and meanest looking tree. Maybe it's angel mojo, maybe sheer force of will, but he’s up there in the blink of an eye. 

Meg has never been wetter. Fat drops hit her over and over. Her blue shirt is soaked. The wind grabs a leaf and throws it at her. She scowls, flicking it off. It leaves a muddy imprint. Meg crushes the leaf under her boot, but when she tries to lift her foot for the final blow, she can’t. The mud has her leg in a slimy grip. She settles for scowling instead.

“You can come down now.” Meg calls. The wind swallows her words and leaves but a whisper. 

Her nose is a shiny red beacon. It's even running. Meg didn't know that was possible. If she ever needed to cry, now would be the time for it. The rain camouflages everything.

A loud crack. Cas’ right leg kicking the air, searching for purchase but never finding it. He’s talking – probably. She can see his mouth move, but the words are incomprehensible. Meg jumps, waving both arms over her head. Anything to get him to come down.

“Castiel!” Meg screams. 

The rain makes the branches slippery and his left foot skids. Cas hangs in his arms, swinging his legs to gain momentum. The whole tree shakes and groans.

“Come down here… you get down here right this instant or else!”

Castiel falls. Falls and falls and falls and it's like it never ends. But it has to. Right?  
He hits the ground. Meg is almost relieved. She huddles over him. There's so much ~~blood~~ mud everywhere. Cas doesn't look damaged though, thank God for his robustness. Literally. Without thought, she grabs his hand and pulls him up. They walk arm in arm, since ~~Meg~~ Cas needs the support. Together they battle the elements and impossibly – they make it. Room. Dry. Safe. 

Meg shudders and smiles.

“Oh, you owe me for this, Clarence. New boots at the very least.” 

Cas nods and nods so much that Meg worries his head will fall off. She squeezes his arm. “Hey… don't do that again, okay?”

Meg drags him to the bathroom. Everything is shiny and claustrophobic, so she slips out and closes the door behind her. There is a long muddy track from door to door. She snorts and kicks off her boots, considers just dumping them in the trash and picking up a pair of ugly clogs like the rest of the staff.

She frowns. Cas is taking an awfully quiet shower. Meg knocks at the door. Once. Twice. Then she barges in. Cas is where she left him, shaking. Tiny shivers sending mud everywhere. 

Meg sighs. She gently uncloaks him and hangs the trenchcoat on a hook. If it was up to her, she would throw it out, but Cas has an unhealthy attachment to it. The scrubs have got to go though. There are more where they came from. Once Castiel is naked in front of her, she cannot get rid of the alien feeling of something being _wrong_. 

Meg cranks the shower knobs up on full power and curses her luck. She shoves Castiel under the hot water and lets him soak, while she sneaks out of her pants. She wants to turn away, hide in the corner. Instead she searches for a rag or sponge or something, but finds nothing. Meg improvises and rips her own shirt. She turns on the cold water in the tiny sink and scrubs the worst of the mud from her arms and legs in harsh strokes. Uneven red patches form on her skin. 

Cas is silent under the water. Meg turns her attention to him. She is still wearing unmatched bra and panties. As if it somehow makes it better. She wets the torn shirt and reaches out to Cas. Her arm stops before cloth touches skin. She tenses and takes a step forward, willing herself to reach out. Castiel is shivering, but he stills at her touch - _doesn’t even flinch._ Meg ~~marvels at~~ hates his trust.

Gentle dabs. Round strokes. Warm pats. He falls apart under her touch. His legs turns to jelly, so she places a strong arm on his chest to hold him up. _This is bad,_ Meg thinks. You shouldn't be shoving people against walls just to wipe off some mud. She needs to stop and definitely not smile.

Cas is pinkish and clean and shiny like a hairless rat _and where did that comparison come from?_ She places both hands on his shoulders – lays all her weight on him, and he sinks to his knees on her prompting. Meg maneuvers herself behind him, and he leans into her – resting his head on her soft belly.

She buries her hands in Cas' hair. Out of necessity ~~and want~~. Meg pets and combs for eternities, ending up with an impressive pile of twigs, pebbles and leaves. She runs her fingers through the wet strands, searching for more rubbish. There is nothing, she accepts and pulls back. Castiel stays, leaning on her. Meg looks up. The water hits her in the eyes. It stings. _This is wrong._

Cas has to go, but he won't, so she shoves him away. He gets up from the wet floor. Meg moves to open the door, but she is caught in quicksand, so a single step takes aeons. She points, and for once Castiel takes a hint. Meg slams the door behind him. Fumbles with the key. Locks it.

“There are towels in the closet. Clothes too.” She calls. Her voice sounds hollow and far away. 

Meg can hear him behind the door, his shuffling noises. The mirror is fogged up. Good. She cannot see herself. Meg tosses off her underwear and walks to the shower. Every step starts splashes of brown water.

Destination reached. She stops and lets the water rain down on her. It's perfect and heavy and beyond all – icy, despite never turning the knob. Meg sways under the stream. Her body is convulsing. She stays like that for a long time.

Later Castiel lays hands on her boots and cleanses them of mud and probably evil spirits too. Meg thanks him, but rolls her eyes and sighs because she had painstakingly hand-washed his trenchcoat and destroyed her nails in the process, scratching out dried clumps of mud.

~ ~ ~ ~

Something is wrong with Meg. She knows it. Back in the old days, ~~butitsnottheolddaysanymore~~ , she wasn't like this. Never. She took what she wanted and gave nothing in return. 

Cas is in the garden, and she should be out there with him, but she can't. She just can't. Not right now. She picks up the water pitcher and hurls it at the wall. ~~She~~ it breaks into thousand pieces. 

Punch the walls. Tear off the shades. Rip the bed from the floor. Dance around in destruction.

The awful thought of Castiel getting blamed for the wreckage. Put in isolation. “For his own good”, they would say. Treacherous voices wonder if that really would be so bad. She slams them down. Of course she can't have Cas in a padded cell. _He does not deserve …_ She blinks rapidly. _Focus!_

If Castiel went to isolation, he would totally teleport away,which would be suspicious. Yes. Can't let that happen. Gotta do something - ensure it never happens. Meg starts by picking up the bed, no longer bolted to the floor. Someone will have to fix that. For now it is be all right.

~ ~ ~ ~

The magazine amuses Meg with all its glossy images. Someone went to a party with one but is married to another – Drama! And look – Shocking Revelation! Woman has skin under clothes - Pictures of her in a bathing suit tell the truth. She loses herself in the alien world of botox and shrimp cocktails. The stories are old but there’s something inside them, a cruel pettiness, that reminds her of home. Her eyes speed down the page. She turns. The paper rips a new wrinkle in the spotless face of some b-list celebrity.

It's nice like this. Legs crossed. Cup of coffee nearby. Cas out, somewhere – playing with a friend. A new hobby of his apparently. _Hadn't he been here two seconds ago?_ Not that Meg cares. She leans back and enjoys the moment - soft like a fleece blanket.

A pair of hands sneak up on her. She cannot be blamed for not noticing, she was trying to figure out which birth to use for her horoscope. The fingers are in her hair, and it's like they’ve always been there. She croons, noticing Cas for the first time. _Castiel._ Behind her. Petting her. Meg smiles, but nausea builds inside her and her hands shake and she drops the magazine.

Castiel frees her hair from the bun. His fingers comb through it. Meg wants him to grip tight and pull till she screams. Cas only scoops up all her hair and pushes it to the top, but the tiny tugs at her scalp are heavenly. ~~Yesyesyes~~. He lets go and the hair falls in dark waves and surround her. Meg reaches to remove a strand from her eyes. Cas mirrors her movement. Their hands meet. He grabs it. Meg doesn't need to breathe, but she wants to. Her heart beats. The grip is so tight; she is going to burst.

Castiel leads her hand to her shoulder, but doesn't let go. _Why doesn't he let go?_ Her entire existence shakes and convulses. Love and hate fighting and combining. Meg sits. Cas stands. Silence. Warmth. Fingers interlocked. They do not move – both too afraid to break the status quo.

~ ~ ~ ~

They are alone together. They often are lately. In their room _and when did it become their room?_ Right now it's huge and filled to the brim with invisible slime. It clings to her. Seeps into her very pores. _That’s something new._ Meg shakes her head.

She has noticed something. About Cas and how he's always there lately. Present in a new way. Once they could spend days in the same room, but he was not there. Not really. Not in spirit or whatever you call it. Now it's like he makes an effort just for her. To be lucid. And even when he's not there, he still … wants her. Wants to braid her hair or take a walk and hold hands. It's ridiculous. Disgusting. Meg wants to retch.

Cas is there now. Perching on the bed like an owl. Staring. She ignores him. Taps a rhythm with her boot instead. Hard floor. Hollow chair. Concrete. Metal. She is so tired. Needs some stimuli. _Not_ Castiel. A scream scratches at the walls of her throat – begging to be let out of its prison.

“What do you want?” Meg demands when she can't take it anymore. 

All her attention is on him, and he has the audacity to pat the mattress. Wants her to come when he calls. Meg swings around and faces the wall instead. Clenches her eyes shut. The bed groans when Castiel gets up. His steps send shockwaves through the floor, and it rattles in her bones. He grows bigger and closer, until the invasion of her personal space is complete, and Meg can do nothing but open her eyes. Cas looks at her with genuine puzzlement. She shudders. Steels herself.

“Well, maybe they don't teach you this at angel school,” Meg begins and the reality of it hits her. She inhales a shaky breath, too far in not to finish. They need to air things out. “But here in the real world, we have this thing called words, that we like to use when we want something, _Clarence._ ” 

The nickname cuts ~~her~~ him like a razor blade. Castiel grips her hand, and it's everything she wants and doesn't need or needs and doesn't want. Meg yanks her hand away. She is at war. Her body is shaking. Every muscle tensed just to keep herself from slapping him, no matter how much she would enjoy it. 

He looks away just then. Good. Needed. Without the constant pressure of his gaze, Meg can focus – think. Her eyes soften, but her mind is sharp.

“Okay, cards on the table.” Meg says. She takes a deep unnecessary breath. She is stalling. “I just need to know what you're getting from this. I don't understand why … I mean, what do you see in me? I'm like a mountain of shit Clarence, and you're …” Meg ends it all with a wiggly hand movement somehow supposed to encompass the situation. She tangles the hand in her hair and pulls, waits, fiddles. Meg's eyes are glued to the floor.

“I …” Cas begins, words picked with care. “I like you.” He says with a smile that hints at white teeth. His words light her fuse, and she explodes.

“You like me?” Meg spits, eyes thin slits of pure ... _something_. “Fine. What do you want me to do about it? You can't just say shit like that. You gotta prove it.” She shoves him, yelling now. “Fucking prove it, Cas! Put up or shut up.” 

Castiel blinks twice at her and then blinks away. She is alone. 

~ ~ ~ ~

He is there for the for the first time in what feels like years, but might just be hours. _Castiel._ He moves around her. Soft steps, almost floating through the air. It all feels huge – like Meg is a planet, and Cas her moon. In and out of view – never touching, but having an impact nevertheless.

“It's alright, Cas.” Meg says. The familiar taste of the nickname is syrupy poison in her mouth. She swallows it. “You can touch. It's just … the softness, I guess. It's getting to me.”

Castiel wraps both arms around her and crushes her. Meg trashes in his hold and then – she stills, letting Cas bury his face in her hair. She takes a deep breath, trying to let the cold air spread through her body, combat the heat, but it's too much, she cannot stand it, she needs out, she is shaking, trembling, gasping. And of course he knows exactly when to let go.

Meg shakes her head. She runs a hand through sweaty strands of hair. Laughter bubbles from her belly. She emits it in uncertain gasps and huffs. She reaches out and pets Castiel for no reason at all. Because she wants to.

“What am I going to do with you?” Meg asks herself and the room and no one in particular. Cas frowns. She smiles. “Congratulations, Clarence. You did good.”

~ ~ ~ ~

Meg has taken to pickpocketing for entertainment and has recently scored a deck of cards. Now she is attempting to teach Cas a game as old as time.

“Go fish, angel.” Meg smiles. He keeps asking if she has any queens. Every single turn. He obviously hasn't grasped the rules. Maybe he’s just playing by his own. That she understands.

“Got any aces up your sleeve?” Meg asks. 

Cas puts down his cards, face up. Two queens, ten of hearts and an assortment of sevens and fours – petty useless cards. Castiel sticks his right hand up his left sleeve, fumbling for any hidden aces. Laughter tumbles from Meg's mouth. Cas smiles. 

Meg throws her cards in the air, and Cas catches every one of them. He frowns when he discovers the queen of clubs. She sticks her tongue out. It's practically domestic.

~ ~ ~ ~

**Author's Note:**

> Originally wrote this for a christmas exchange last year. Now I'm finally posting it.


End file.
